


Half a Heartbeat

by minidumpling



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Adora (She-Ra) Needs a Hug, Catra (She-Ra) Needs a Hug, Emotional Hurt, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Endgame, F/F, Friends to Enemies, Heavy Angst, Hurt Adora (She-Ra), Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, One Shot, POV Catra (She-Ra), Past Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:28:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23859106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minidumpling/pseuds/minidumpling
Summary: Adora licks her lips and tries again. “Please Catra,” she mutters. It might already be too late for her, six days without water or food as she tried to fend off against Catra’s incessant attacks, losing energy until it was a challenge to even heft her sword.Eventually, she couldn’t run.So she walked.Then, she crawled.Then, she dragged herself along the ground until Catra found her.Killing Adora should be easy.
Relationships: Adora & Catra (She-Ra), Adora/Catra (She-Ra), Catra & Shadow Weaver | Light Spinner (She-Ra), Catra/Shadow Weaver | Light Spinner (She-Ra)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 155





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Heya, please read the first chapter if you're looking for the contest submission. 
> 
> The other four chapters are what I wrote when I had writer's block and trying to piece something together, so it's a lot shakier than I'd like.

It should be easy.

Adora—SheRa—lifted her head up and looked at Catra. “Please...” she mumbled, her eyes cloudy and unfocused.

It felt strange to finally have the rebellion’s chief fighter brought to her knees after so much fighting, so many failed attempts to bring her down. And yet, staring at her nemesis begging for her life didn’t feel as satisfying as Catra thought it would, like getting stale cereal or soured milk.

It just didn’t sit right with her, but she brushed it off.

She had a job to do, a promise she’d made to herself because that was the only promise she knew she could keep, a vow to finally bring this entire shitshow to an end.

She’d spent hours— _days_ pounding into herself that she would not hesitate when the time came, that she would steadily raise the sword and bring it crashing down. Weeks training herself, pushing her body past its limits in the barracks as she squeezed in push-up after push-up, practiced punch after punch and ruptured the thick skin on the punching bag. Nights laying awake at night replaying her battles with Adora in slow motion, memorizing how she moved and where she was vulnerable.

Years longing to be given the chance to clear up the mess that had left her unhinged.

She could’ve cleaned up her act, gotten friends and maybe even a family within the Horde. All it took was a decision to put Adora behind her and move on, look at life like it was a new day that she could improve upon.

But she couldn’t. She didn’t have the energy, the motivation to wipe the board clean and start over again, didn’t have the passion to even try and break out of her old habits that got her into trouble—in fact, only started doing them more, seeking some form of the adrenaline rush she’d felt when Adora was next to her, laughing with that little giggle as they ran away from Octavia or teased Lonnie.

It was free game for Weaver too.

That didn’t go down so well for Catra, crawling away with a broken wrist and a corrupted eye as the result of her “experiments”.

Years of that added up, night after night of bolting upright, gasping for air and trying to lay back down only to realize the sheets were soaked in sweat, day after day of hiding in the barracks just for Weaver to come back for another round.

Weaver broke her, eventually. Dragged Catra into the courtyard in front of everyone and stripped her down, exposing the bare skin on her back to the whip that Weaver didn't stop swinging, drawing a patch of ripped and torn skin and flesh, blood dripping down her sides, and all Catra had to show for it was a single tear that slid down her cheek as she lay there, mind-numbingly dizzy while she tried to claw herself away from Weaver.

She didn’t get out of the bed for two weeks after that, not even moving, only watching as the other cadets blurred by. After three days bedsores developed and after five only Scorpia tipping water into her parched mouth kept her alive.

When she did get out of bed, it was because Weaver wanted her to run through the hardest training simulation in the next five minutes. When she did talk, it was a yes or no. When she did eat, she vomited it back up into the metal toilet bowl in the shitty bathrooms on the second floor. When she went to bed she only lay there fighting exhaustion and fatigue. When she did manage to drift off into an uneasy sleep it was plagued by images of Weaver towering over her.

And years of this.

Catra stares down at the girl by her feet.

Adora licks her lips and tries again. “Please Catra,” she croaks. It might already be too late for her, six days without water or food as she tried to fend off against Catra’s incessant attacks, losing energy until it was a challenge to even heft her sword.

Eventually, she couldn’t run.

She walked.

Then, she crawled.

Then, she dragged herself along the ground until Catra found her.

Catra could call it an act of mercy, the hissing sound of the blade slipping into her body the last thing Adora hears before sinking into darkness. She could tell herself its justified and walk away, finally be done with the nightmare she’s been trying to overcome for the past four years.

It should be easy.

But her hand still shakes as Catra levels the sword underneath Adora’s chin, staring at the girl and trying to see the person that ripped apart her life instead of a helpless girl begging for her life.

A defenseless girl begging an old friend for her life.

There's a tear that trickles down Adora’s face, stopping under her chin and quivering there, just above the blade.

Adora’s mouth trembles as she forms her next words. “Promise,” she rasps, “won’t leave.”

Catra can't do anything to stop the illusion from falling apart, can’t even tear her eyes away from Adora’s as they just stand there, bound in place by their promises.

_“You promise?”_

"You broke that promise a long time ago," Catra says, staring past Adora at everything and nothing, speaking to thin air.

Adora shakes her head, blood from a scratch on her cheek dribbling down, almost like a teardrop. “No. Didn’t forget.”

_"I promise."_

Catra has to go soon, get back to the Horde and keep going. She tells herself that she needs to put Adora behind her and finally keep her promise to herself, but she can’t; she’s glued in place and something out of her control is holding her back from committing and letting the blade do its job.

“Don’t leave,” Adora murmurs.

Catra grits her teeth, feeling tears come to her eyes as she grinds her rusted joints and pushes the point forward until it’s poking Adora’s neck. Every part of her body screams to fling the sword away but her mind forces her to hold steady, a hazy cloud descending over her thoughts.

Adora doesn’t move. Her eyes are still locked onto Catra’s, and its a wonder because they’re so unfocused that Catra’s surprised she’s even looking in the right direction, the light in her eyes struggling to stay lit. Her body’s already given in and flooded itself with endorphins, blanketing the pain with a soft numbness.

It should be easy.

Catra takes a breath, squeezing her eyes shut so she doesn't have to watch Adora’s eyes blink out, bracing every muscle in her body to hear the cold hiss of the metal against flesh. But she can't help taking a little peek, opening her eye just a crack to get one last glimpse of Adora.

Her eyes are closed and her jaw hangs slack. The only indication that she’s alive is the shallow rise and fall of her shoulders. She's already halfway there.

It should be easy.

Why isn't it easy?


	2. Long Way Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to go. 
> 
> Time for Catra to face the consequences of her decision, little ripple effects that extend far past what she can see as she drags Adora's body through the Whispering Woods. 
> 
> “Stay,” Adora gasps. Her face is flushed from the effort and if she isn’t careful she might overstress her body again. “Can you stay with me?”
> 
> Catra looks at her. “I can’t do that.”
> 
> The clock's ticking.

Adora’s body hangs limp over Catra’s shoulder as she trudges through the undergrowth of the Whispering Woods, watching the red blinking dot on the trackerpad. Adora’s feet drag along in the leaves behind them, and the only thing that keeps her from flopping onto the ground is Catra tightly clutching her arms.

She’s done it. Finally cleared the path to victory for the Horde, dealt not the last, but the most important blow to the rebellion. And she’s also solved her final problem, her own little vigilante mission finally coming to a close after four years.

She can still feel the slick blood on her hands as she picked Adora’s body up, the metallic taste lingering in her mouth as she stared at Adora’s lifeless form. The sword jutting out of her throat, severing her lifeline. A victory.

She can feel the elation in her body as she dumps She-Ra’s body on the ground, the little grassy area in front of the castle Adora had called home for the past four years. Everyone would see the rebellion’s mighty hero dead, limp like a sack of soggy fries on the floor, eyes lolling around in their sockets. The rebellion would fall apart even faster than before and Catra would be in the lead as they sailed into Brightmoon.

That’s how it was _supposed_ to have gone down.

Adora stirs, a weak groan coming from her as she slowly wakes up. “Catra?” she asks. Her voice is weak, much weaker than it should be and it makes Catra’s heart pick up a little bit. “Why am I on... your back?”

Catra doesn’t reply. Doesn’t know how, the words chasing each other around in circles as she pretends to ignore Adora.

She’s gotten pretty good at that over the years. Before Weaver had broken her she’d braved her way through the countless cadets who seemed to hold a very special hate for her that wasn’t really helped by her runaway mouth. She’d walk away with a bloody face and a _very_ painful kidney, while all the others had to show for it was a little scratch on their arm.

It took her a while, but she learned.

Not enough, though. She should have ignored herself. Should have ignored the icy feeling in her stomach as she thrust the tip of the sword in Adora’s face and stood there for five minutes, frozen. Should have just manned up and pushed it; it was a plenty sharp blade anyways. Even the most rookie cadet in the Horde knows you can’t let your own emotions impede your work, you have to commit not because you feel like it but because you have a job, and _you better do your fucking job._

And she’d failed miserably at that. Wasted away years laying under her bunk yearning for the moment she got to stare down Adora as her eyes dimmed and faded away, the moment she could finally stand over Adora and say _I don’t need you_.

Years.

All wasted away because at the very last minute a little piece of her pussied out.

Actually, her entire life in the Horde wasted away, all seventeen years of it gone in a flash. There was no way she could return to the Fright Zone empty-handed, no way Weaver wouldn’t leap at the chance to put some more permanent damage on her, no way Hordak wouldn’t eviscerate her the moment they crossed paths.

Just because she didn’t have the guts.

Strangely enough, Catra felt at peace with her decision.

“Water,” Adora croaks. “Please.”

It's easier than trying to figure out an answer to her previous question so Catra slides Adora’s body off her shoulder and lays it down on the ground. Adora’s so weak she can’t even sit up or lift her arms, just a living doll needing to be taken care of.

Catra leans Adora’s head forward tips a bottle of water into her mouth, watching as some of it dribbles down her chin and onto her clothes. Adora doesn’t care, greedily lapping up the remaining water. Her lips are so badly chapped they look like someone poured liquid nitrogen on them and her cheeks are hollow and gaunt. There’s dirt stains all over the front of her uniform from where she dragged herself across the rocky ground trying to escape Catra, cuts and scrapes on her arms where she dug into the earth and pulled herself forward.

It’s honestly a wonder that she made it this far.

Eventually Adora closes her mouth and shakes her head, closing her eyes as she swallows the last sip. “Thank you,” she whispers. Her voice is a little stronger, not as strong as it should be, but better than before.

Catra stows away the water and checks her trackerpad one more time; they’re only a few hundred yards away from Brightmoon.

A few hundred more yards and she’s setting Adora down in the grassy clearing, flicking her ear as she watches warily for approaching guards. Adora’s recovered enough so that she can sit up, maybe even stand if she really tried. She could call for help and the guards would come running to save the rebellion’s face.

Catra doesn’t need to be here anymore.

She does need to be out of Brightmoon, planning her next steps, the first few pages of this new chapter in her life. One without Adora in it to fuck everyone over again, without everything that’s dragged her down for her entire life.

She stands up to go and melt into the forest but Adora’s hand catches hers and she jerks around, frowning. Adora’s looking at her with a pleading face, and for the first time since Catra found her facedown in the dirt her eyes are clear and sharp, locking onto Catra.

“Thank you,” Adora says.

“You already said that.”

“No.” Adora shakes her head. “Thank you for not killing me and for bringing me back.”

There’s a little tremble in her voice, a wavering caused by some words Adora’s holding back but Catra doesn’t want to find out what Adora’s about to say, she wants to vanish into the woods and run away from this war.

She’d considered it before. There were rumors about Catra’s species, that she was part of a long lineage of “Magicat” queens. No one knew where the supposed Magicats lived, but Catra spent enough time with Entrapta to get somewhat of a hunch. She could roam around until she hopefully found it, if she wanted to.

Not that there was much of a choice now, with Weaver and Hordak certain to—at best—kill her. And anyways, living off the grid by herself didn’t seem like that bad of an idea. No Weaver, no cadets throwing glares in her direction, no more fighting.

No more leaving behind friends.

“No problem,” Catra answers. She slides her hand out of Adora’s and turns back around to face the woods, ready to vanish between trees and not look back.

She’s ready to put Adora behind her and finally end this damn chapter of her life. Ready to put this entire part of her life behind her and just start over, wipe the board clean and live a new life— maybe not the life she wanted, but a life better than this one.

She's ready to walk away.

She almost does, too. But at the last moment Adora’s finger scrabbles against her arm and takes hold. She’s barely able to support herself but she clings on tight, her grip tightening around Catra’s hand.

“Stay,” Adora gasps. Her face is flushed from the effort and if she isn’t careful she might overstress her body again. “Can you stay with me?”

Catra looks at her. “I can’t do that.”

Adora closes her eyes and lets a lungful of air slide out of her mouth. It’s the sound Catra heard when she lay in bed feeling the hate course through her veins, the sound she played in her head as she struggled to move for the first time in weeks after Weaver’s beatings because it was the only sound that could do that, the only sound that could relight the fire that’s fizzled out inside her.

They're both slipping back into oblivion.

“Promise,” Adora murmurs. “Stay.”

“I can’t do that.”

She should walk away now and get it over with. She _has to_ , because the icy feeling is flooding her stomach again as she looks at Adora straining to keep her head in the air and she knows the clock is ticking, they’re running out of time.

“Please.”

Catra doesn’t see Adora even though she’s looking straight at her, only perceiving the swirling emotions inside her and she knows it’s over, _time’s up._

She has to go.

“I can’t do that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My brain is fucking fried. ABSOLUTELY FRIED.


	3. Second Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catra's stuck in Brightmoon with nowhere left to go. 
> 
> Adora closes her eyes briefly and panic flares up in Catra as she sees her pupils roll upward into her head but after a moment she opens them again, refocusing on Catra. “You stayed,” she murmurs. “You’re really here?”
> 
> “Unfortunately.” Catra leans against the railing with a sigh. “I’m here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Ahem* yes this was my worst work so far so just skim through it and try not to vomit, I promise the next ones will be better.

Time’s up.

Adora begs her to stay, hanging onto Catra’s hand and pleading with her.

“I can’t do that,” Catra breathes.

But she stays. Picks up Adora and carries her straight into Brightmoon, ignoring the burning feeling in her arms and trudging up the steps. Adora’s out cold, barely breathing as Catra struggles to lift her body but there’s still warmth between their them, flowing back and forth like a current signaling that she’s alive. It’s the warmth she hasn’t felt in over four years, feeling strangely foreign yet heart-achingly familiar at the same time.

Bow and Glimmer appeared as they were making their final steps towards the entrance, armed and ready to fight. It was chaotic, to say the least. "Put Adora down!” Bow demanded. “What did you do to her?!” Glimmer shrieked. Catra didn’t answer either questions, swallowing hard at the second one. She couldn't answer to any of them, the enemy and the ones Adora chose over her. It didn't really go down well with them and they crouched lower, brandishing their weapons. Only Adora stopped them from tackling Catra, waking up long enough to tell them to stand down before pressing her head against Catra’s shoulder and passing out again.

“I’m peachy” or something like that.

So they took her to the infirmary. Catra handed Adora off to Bow when they reached the doors, unable to go inside and potentially watch as Adora slipped into oblivion before her eyes. She would rather be told the news than live through it.

It’s quiet in the Brightmoon hallways. Catra could hear the busting of the nurses and the beeping of the monitors as they ushered Adora into a bed, the muffled chatter dying down as a rhythmic beeping starts, the steady cadence calming Catra down.

Adora’s alive.

It's not exactly a huge weight that lifts off Catra’s shoulders, more like a sourness that clears out in her chest. She’s still not sure whether or not she made the right call, replaying the moment she dropped the blade over and over in her head, imagining how different it would be if she just did a simple thrust of the sword.

She doesn’t know.

She still doesn’t know where she’s going to go after this entire fiasco. She _could_ sneak back into the Fright Zone and run away with Entrapta and Scorpia—the only two people she can stomach in the Horde—, she _could_ follow Entrapta’s guestimate on the location of the Magicat kingdom, she _could_ just live alone in the Whispering Woods. But there’s too many “what if’s”, too many uncertainties that she has to look at and before long she realizes there’s nowhere for her to go, she’s stranded here.

Stuck in Brightmoon, surrounded by the enemy.

Strangely enough, she’s not as distressed about it as she thinks she should be. She doesn’t feel any stress or apprehension at all; in fact, she can feel a little bit of excitement rising that she quickly shoves back down.

It’s madness to be playing games with princesses. Madness to completely waste away years of preparation and training and to throw it away just like Adora threw her away.

But—Catra squeezes her eyes shut— _there’s nowhere else to go_. Nowhere else to seek refuge, no Horde officer willing to take her back, no Magicat kingdom that’s exactly where Entrapta said it would be, no non-dangerous living thing in the Whispering Woods. And to even _think_ about working with the rebellion!

The door opens and Catra jumps into the air, biting back a shriek as a nurse pops her head out. She’s a little jumpier than she thought, apparently.

“I’m sorry to interrupt miss, but Adora’s awake and she’s demanding to see you,” the nurse says. “Follow me, please.”

Catra catches the door as it’s about to close and walks in, squinting her eyes as she takes in the stark room. It’s white. Very white. Walls, ceilings, floor, beds, even the hospital gown Adora’s wearing is shockingly white. It’s like the Brightmoon version of heaven, there’re even white paintings of Queen Angella lining the windows that sunlight streams in from. In her colored outfit Catra can’t help but feel a little self-conscious.

Bow and Glimmer must’ve teleported out because Adora’s the only person in the infirmary, surrounded by monitors and a few needles protruding from her arms. Catra can’t help but stare at the needles, seeing the way they push into the skin and imagining a blade doing the same thing. Doing what she was supposed to have done a long, long time ago, sliding into the flesh and snuffing out the source of her problems.

She doesn’t really know, anymore. It’s all too blurry and obscure for her to understand.

Adora’s eyes crack open as Catra approaches, not sharp like they were before but more like an in-between; half-sharp, half-glassy. They still snap onto Catra as she approaches and the corners of Adora’s mouth tug upwards into a small smile that Catra can’t help reciprocating.

“Catra,” Adora breathes.

“Hey, Adora.”

Adora closes her eyes briefly and panic flares up in Catra as she sees her pupils roll upward into her head but after a moment she opens them again, refocusing on Catra. “You stayed,” she murmurs. “You’re really here?”

“Unfortunately.” Catra leans against the railing with a sigh. “I’m here.”

Adora's hand snakes out and weakly grabs Catra’s hand—icy cold, so cold that it hurts Catra’s skin upon contact. Catra’s instinct is to pull away and sever the connection between them because it only hurts the longer she holds on, but something else locks her body up and tells her to _stay_.

So she stays.

It still feels wrong to a certain degree, sitting next to her target and holding hands with her instead of driving the point of a sword into Adora’s neck. All of those nights spent laying in her bunk with twisted sheets wishing with all her heart that she could exact upon Adora the revenge she’d been imagining for years leading up to... this? And still, to a larger degree, this feels... right.

So she stays.

“Are you going to leave soon?” Adora asks. Of course she’s already thinking about when Catra leaves, when in truth the only person leaving was her.

Catra doesn’t respond for a while, staring at the monitors across from her and she can feel Adora’s hand start to tighten on hers.

“Are you going back to the Fright Zone?” she presses.

Catra goes with the first reasonable answer that pops into her head. “You think the rebellion would just let me walk back to the Fright Zone?”

“Yes.”

That gave her a pause.

She doesn’t want to say it, but with Adora’s hand almost painfully tight around hers she’s more afraid of the lie than the truth. She lets out a chuckle that sounds more like a sigh. “I got nowhere else to go, Adora. No other place will take me, even this place. I’ve gotta go _somewhere_ soon.”

Adora squeezes Catra’s hand. “You can stay with us,” she offers. “You can stay here if you’d like.”

“I don’t think your friends would be too happy about that,” Catra answers.

Adora gives a small laugh, a faint—but sincere—laugh. “They're nice people. You can stay with me.”

Catra is silent again as she watches Adora’s heartrate on the screen, tracing every spike and valley in the graph and feeling her heartbeat beneath her hand. Slowly, Catra can feel the muscles in her hand relaxing as Adora drifts off, her breathing evening out into slow, deep breaths.

She stays.


	4. Late Nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not-Catra picks up the sword and walks over to Adora, kicking her onto her back. “What you need is not a friend,” Not-Catra growls. She raises her sword above Adora, the point hanging precariously over her. “What you need are people who can help you get to the top.”
> 
> Adora weakly raises her hand as if to shield herself. “Please,” she croaks. “Promise.”
> 
> Not-Catra grins, watching Adora’s face transform into pure terror as she presses the point of the blade into Adora’s chest. “You broke that promise a long time ago,” she sneers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .Ah yes the third time writing this and the third version that looks nothing like the others but here ya go.

Catra stayed by Adora’s side for the rest of the night, listening to the sounds of her breathing and the monitors that quietly beeped in a matching rhythm to Adora’s heartbeat. There was no one else in the infirmary, even the nurse on duty had pulled out a blanket and tucked herself in at the front desk, snoring away with her head in her arms. At some point Bow and Glimmer had teleported back into the room, warily asking Catra if she minded they join her

She did, but drew up chairs anyways.

The first few minutes were awkward, to say the least. It was pristine silence as the three of them sat there, Bow fidgiting in his seat and Glimmer staring absentmindedly at Adora. Catra couldn’t really help the sneer that came over her face as she watched Bow and Glimmer grow more uncomfortable, to the point where Bow actually unslung his quiver and started counting his arrows.

She would have laughed—no, she _should’ve_ laughed because this was exactly the sort of thing Catra would take amusement watching, but she didn’t feel the same watching the two sit in silence, didn’t feel the same emotions she would have felt yesterday.

After an hour, Glimmer whispered into Bow’s ear and he hastily nodded before making some sloppy excuse and taking Glimmer’s hand, teleporting out of there and leaving Catra to herself. She let out a chuckle but even that felt forced and fake.

As much as she wanted to deny it, she wasn’t the same anymore. She wasn’t looking into the future and imagining how grandious her life would be with SheRa gone, she was looking back and musing over how un-Catra she’d become, a border she wasn't really sure she could cross back over again.

“Catra?” Adora’s awake.

Catra’s tail flicks impatiently. “It’s two in the morning. Go back to bed.”

Adora shifts slightly, turning her head so she can see Catra. “What about you?”

“Sleep.” Her words are tense and tight. An order. Adora complies, turning her head back and falling silent. After a few minutes her breathing evens out and becomes a slow steady cadence that lulls Catra towards sleep. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Adora doesn’t respond, already in whatever realm she dreams in.

Fatigue is starting to creep up on her, setting its roots into her mind and slowing down her thoughts, demanding that she put her head down and close her eyes. She wants to fight it, to stay awake and make sure she doesn’t leave Adora again but her body forces her eyes closed and sleep is firing its rockets, an inverse launch into the peaceful void some equate to death.

_“What have I become?” The voice is familiar, too familiar because it’s Catra’s own voice but she hasn’t spoken; something else has._

_Her eyes opening, widening in shock as she takes in Adora on the ground, and another copy of herself standing above Adora. It’s the same scene from yesterday, the same trees in the same places with the same sword held up to Adora’s chin._

_Adora lifts her head up and Catra’s stomach churns at the way her eyes are barely focused, almost lost in themselves already as she turns to look at Not-Catra. “Please...” she breathes._

_Not-Catra ignores her, instead staring straight at Catra with a sneer on her face. “You could’ve become so much better," she snarls, jabbing the point of the blade towards Adora. “You could have become a hero to Etheria.”_

_“No,” Catra whispers. “Not to myself.”_

_“Why?” Not-Catra snaps, tapping the flat edge of the blade against Adora’s chin. Adora recoils slightly, almost losing her balance and falling over but Not-Catra seizes the collar of her uniform and drags her into place. “You couldn’t do it because she's your friend?”_

_Catra swallows. “Yes.”_

_“BULLSHIT,” roars Not-Catra, throwing Adora to the side. She collapses without a noise. “SHE LEFT YOU FOR SOME PRETTY PRINCESSES AND LET YOU SUFFER FOR HER CHOICE.”_

_Catra struggles to move. She wants so badly to go over and grab Adora, to shake her awake and carry her the three miles back to Brightmoon even though she knows its a dream but she can’t; something’s holding her in place._

_“Why are you destroying your future?” Not-Catra purrs, tilting her head. “Why are you making these bad choices?”_

_Catra shakes her head. “I don’t know. It doesn’t feel right.”_

_Not-Catra clucks her tongue. “You didn’t learn anything the Horde taught you, did you? What did they say about your emotions when you have a mission?”_

_“Ignore them,” whispers Catra._

_Not-Catra nods. “Correct. And yet, you somehow are still refusing to ignore these stupid emotions that come up in teenagers like you simply because of some fucked up chemical soup running through your veins right now making you think wonky.”_

_Catra narrows her eyes. “No I’m not.”_

_Not-Catra turns to look at her, fingering the point of the sword with one of her claws. “So then what?” she asks._

_“I’m not making these choices based off my emotions,” Catra answered. Her voice is growing steadier, stronger each word she speaks. “I’m not blinded by my wants or my needs, or the lies that the Horde has been feeding us for years.”_

_“So then why did you go along?” Not-Catra hisses._

_“Because I was blind then,” Catra says. “But now I’m not. And it’s not my emotions that are telling me it’s wrong, this is my heart knowing its wrong even though my mind is ignoring it.”_

_Not-Catra bares her teeth. “So you are letting your emotions get in the way.”_

_“No.” Catra shakes her head. “I’m listening to what I need instead of what I want, something I should have done far earlier._

_Not-Catra considers Catra for a second before relaxing, dropping the tip of the sword into the dirt and leaning on it like a cane. “Not bad,” she drawls. “But you still don't see the whole picture.”_

_Not-Catra picks up the sword and walks over to Adora, kicking her onto her back. “What you need is not a_ friend _,” Not-Catra growls. She raises her sword above Adora, the point hanging precariously over her. “What you need are people who can help you get to the top.”_

_Adora weakly raises her hand as if to shield herself. “Please,” she croaks. “Promise.”_

_Not-Catra grins, watching Adora’s face transform into pure terror as she presses the point of the blade into Adora’s chest. “You broke that promise a long time ago,” she sneers._

Not-Catra pushes the blade down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to the beginning, huh?


End file.
